


War of Hearts

by vipertooths



Series: HP: Draco/Harry [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Until it's not), 8th year, Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anticipatory Anxiety, Bottom Draco, Casual Sex, EWE, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Golden Trio, Happy Ending, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Ginny Hate, Sex as a coping method, Sexual Content, Song Lyrics, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipertooths/pseuds/vipertooths
Summary: Things Harry is unsure of:- Life After Hogwarts- His Career Choice- The Budding Relationship Between Him and Draco MalfoyThings Harry IS sure of:- n/a





	1. Not in Our Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh, I finally stopped procrastinating the last chapter of this jfkdjsh 
> 
> Thanks to my friends Assflash and Murder Queen for supporting and partaking in my obsession with HP fanon and drarry specifically.

_I didn't want to_  
_Want to get into_  
_All that we've been through_  
_Not tonight_

  
{ • • • }

It’s strange, Harry thinks, how he’s found himself tonight. It’s not that he’s out past curfew, drinking firewhiskey that had to be smuggled onto Hogwarts grounds, trying not to think about what he’s meant to do now that he’s not fighting for his survival. No, what’s strange is that his choice of companion at the moment is Draco Malfoy. And perhaps more surprising than sharing a drink (or ten, if he has his way) with Malfoy is _Malfoy_ agreeing to share a drink with _him_.

This would have been out of the question if it were still the first weeks of school, when the only interaction they’d had since Voldemort’s defeat was Harry returning Malfoy’s wand (and the subsequent thanks that ensued on both sides) and the curt nods given if they caught one another’s eye across a room.

Over the last several months, a sort of thawing had occurred between them, helping along civility and even amity between the other houses. If they can get along, after their history, then the rest of the 8th years can at least try.

They’ve not suddenly become best friends, but they’ve reached something close to concord. Malfoy has laid off the blood purity bullshit, admitting he was little more than a sponge and mouthpiece for his family’s prejudice, and is more tempered now than anyone would have thought possible. He’s as sharp tongued and willful as ever, but there’s a maturity there that wasn't present before the war.

Harry supposes that’s most of them now, forced to grow up far too rapidly. He’s a man now, but he can't help but feel like he’s missed out on the transition, like someone hit the fast forward button on part of his life.

He says that bit aloud, but Malfoy just stares at him like he’s lost the plot. It occurs to him, belatedly, that Malfoy would have no idea what a fast forward button is.

“Never mind me,” he says, sprawling onto his back and staring at the sky, tracing constellations in his head.

“I don't think that’s an option,” Malfoy answers, taking another drink and setting the bottle down rather hard on the ground between them.

Harry sighs and moves it before it can be knocked over like it was before. “Why were you drinking by yourself in the middle of the quidditch pitch anyway?”

“Seemed like the thing to do.”

“We should head back inside.”

“I wouldn't sleep anyway.”

“Me either.”

Malfoy leans onto an elbow, peering over at him. He looks back, and the silence stretches on, heat climbing his body like a phantom flame. It might be the whiskey or it might be the way Malfoy’s face looks in the moonlight. Whatever it is has him dragging the Slytherin down by a fistful of robes and fitting their mouths together in a hungry kiss.

Hungry seems to be the only way to describe it now that it’s started. It feels like that first meal you have after going too long without, devouring whatever you can get your hands on, even when you know you ought to be pacing yourself.

Malfoy moans when their tongues collide, the little vibrations providing further stimuli, and moves until he’s straddling Harry’s left leg. He grinds down, hands traveling ceaselessly under Harry’s shirt, seemingly unable to decide on a place to rest.

Harry arches up, nearly shuddering at the contact, and tangles his fingers in soft, blond hair. Their kissing has devolved into mostly panting now, but somehow just the act of sharing breath sets his nerve endings alight. He groans when they press together again, sparing a hand to reach around and grab Malfoy’s arse.

With a tug, he directs Malfoy’s head to the side, latching onto the now exposed skin with his mouth and leisurely sucking a bruise into it. He sweeps his tongue up Malfoy’s neck and nips lightly. The slight gasp he receives in answer spurs him into biting harder, teeth sinking into the flesh just below Malfoy’s ear. This time, he’s rewarded with a short mewl, and he bucks his hips up, desperate for more friction.

It is overzealous and sloppy and unbridled and Harry can't think of a single thing in the world that feels as good as this, as the way their bodies fit together.

Nails dig almost painfully into Harry’s sides and their rhythm is broken as Malfoy ruts against him with more urgency, spewing obscenities and moans in equal parts. It sets him over the edge, and they come nearly in time with each other, riding out the last of their orgasms with rough, choppy movements. 

Malfoy immediately collapses down on top of him, not bothering to move even as they come down from their high. Bolstered by an odd sense of surrealness, he brings a hand up to card through Malfoy’s hair. It seems to be the right choice, as Malfoy hums contentedly at the contact.

“This was a terrible idea,” is mumbled into his neck, and he nods slightly, but it’s soon followed by, “We should do it again sometime.”

He closes his eyes and goes back to not thinking about what he’s doing with his life, letting himself enjoy the surprising comfort of having a warm body covering his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
> But in ourselves, that we are underlings."  
> Julius Caesar - Act 1, Scene 2
> 
> Lyrics from Fade Away by Ryder.
> 
> And as alwayyyss, kudos are great and comments are wonderful! It really helps keeps fic writers writing, so if you like something, let them know! Did you read a fic before you came to this one? Go leave that author the love they deserve!! 
> 
> Tumblr: [trashkinq](http://trashkinq.tumblr.com), [viperteeth](http://viperteeth.tumblr.com)


	2. As Easy as to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sex lmao. This story was originally written for me to practice smut scenes, so that's to be expected really. Please enjoy! :)

_Come to me_   
_In the night hours_   
_I will wait for you_   
_And I can’t sleep_   
_Cause thoughts devour_   
_Thoughts of you consume_

  
{ • • • }

 

Harry shifts restlessly in his bed, anxiety coiling in his gut. Malfoy had been tense all day, and Harry had quietly volunteered to help him unwind once everyone else was asleep. Despite it being Malfoy’s suggestion that they get together again, he hadn't made any move to after that night a week ago. In fact, it was like nothing happened at all, which made Harry nervous to bring it up again. They'd been drinking, but they weren't pissed (the ground ended up drinking more firewhiskey than they did), so he figured the offer still stood.

In the darkness, he finally hears the sound of the door opening and soft pads of footsteps. His curtains are drawn back and the bed dips before he hears them slide closed again. Malfoy locks them and then slips under the blankets, bare feet slightly chilly where they touch his. He reaches out cautiously in the dark, sliding his hand from Malfoy’s chest, up to his neck.

“I didn't know if you'd come,” he whispers.

“We haven't gotten that far yet,” Malfoy murmurs back, leaning closer until he’s nuzzling into Harry’s jaw.

Harry tilts his head, placing kisses wherever his lips land until he reaches Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy nips at him and pulls away, choosing instead to crawl between his legs.

“We need a silencing charm.”

“No,” Malfoy says, “We just need you to be quiet.”

His pants are tugged at impatiently and he lifts off the bed enough for them to be removed. Nails scrape lightly down his thigh, causing him to shiver, and he wonders how such a simple thing could make him feel so much.

When smooth fingers wrap around his cock, he whimpers, earning himself an amused shushing. Without warning, the head of it is suddenly enveloped by a warm mouth and he jerks his hips involuntarily. Malfoy uses one hand to hold Harry down while the other moves at a lazy pace over the length of his shaft. He bites his lip, fisting his own in the bed sheets.

Malfoy takes another inch into his mouth before pulling up and running his tongue over the head. He hums as he goes back down, and Harry’s positive it’s the single best sensation he’s experienced to date. He expects that thought will crop up in his head every time Malfoy touches him, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Another groan escapes his mouth as Malfoy continues to take in more of his cock and he hopes like hell that nobody suddenly needs to get up to take a piss. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants under his breath, unable to help himself.

The hand on his pelvis disappears as he’s worked faster and he feels an arm move tellingly against his leg. The fact that Malfoy is getting off on pleasuring him sends a thrill coursing through his veins. He wishes he could _see_ , but settles for scrunching his eyes shut and imagining. In his mind, he pictures Malfoy’s long fingers, his full, pink lips, the waves in his hair when he let’s it air dry after a shower, grey eyes sparkling with mischief.

Harry’s hips snap up as he comes, and Malfoy pulls away with a cough. He can't be too put out about the surprise though, if the soft sounds he’s making are any indication.

A moment later, he crawls back up the bed, grumbling about the mess made. Harry seeks out his wand and casts a _Lumos_. When his eyes adjust, he’s awarded with the sight of Malfoy sitting back on his haunches, ruffled and semen-streaked. Something possessive flares up in his chest and he quickly buries it.

He settles on grinning instead, though he can't help but place a hand on Malfoy’s hip. “You've always been a mess. Don't blame it on me.”

“At least I don't always look like I've been shagged in a windstorm and have no idea what a comb is.”

“Should I slick it back like you used to? Or did you stop because you finished off the world’s supply of hair product?”

When Malfoy opens his mouth, someone else speaks, and there's a split second of confusion before they realize they’ve been talking quite loud for the time of night.

“Was that you, Harry?” Ron asks, voice thick and raspy.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Just talking to myself.”

“Could've sworn I heard Malfoy too. Probably haunting me in my nightmares. Keep it down, will you?”

Harry nods vigorously before realizing that Ron can't see him. “Yeah, got it.”

He and Malfoy stare at each other in silence until they’re relatively sure that Ron’s gone back to sleep, then cast a few cleaning charms.

“I told you we should have used a silencing spell,” he whispers, attempting to locate his pants under the blanket.

Malfoy simply smirks, unseals the curtains, and takes his leave.

Harry gives up his search and lies back down with a sigh. This whole thing really _is_ a terrible idea. Then again, that could be the title of his autobiography.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be about double the length of this one. For word length reference:
> 
> 1: 878  
> 2: 841  
> 3: 1588  
> 4: 969  
> 5: 1820  
> 6: 1330  
> 7: 1485  
> 8: 1276  
> 9: 1987
> 
>  
> 
> these should be pretty accurate, barring a few things I may have changed when editing. 
> 
> "If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes' palaces."  
> The Merchant of Venice - Act 1, Scene 2
> 
> Lyrics from War of Hearts by Ruelle.


	3. Pleasant Fountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild aggression at the start, but I mean this is Draco and Harry we're talking about so who's all that surprised?

_Don't wanna fight you_   
_It just makes me want you_   
_Can't we just skip to_   
_The part we like?_

{ • • • }

“For fucks sake, Potter, can you shut up?”

Harry looks up, startled, at where Malfoy is hunched over his homework. The several conversations that had been occurring stop suddenly and eyes flick between the two of them, hesitant to act.

“There were plenty of other people talking too, Malfoy.”

“None of their voices are quite so grating as yours.”

Annoyance bubbles in his chest and he grits his teeth. He stands and walks to Malfoy, well aware that getting into a fight in the middle of the common room would help nothing. He grabs Malfoy’s arm and hoists him out of his seat, pulling him along despite the resistance.

“What the fuck is your problem, then?” he asks, stopping them in the middle of an empty corridor.

Malfoy yanks his arm away finally, but steps closer into Harry’s space. “I thought it was obvious that you are, but perhaps you're too thick to understand that.”

With a low growl, he shoves Malfoy away. It seems both wrong and right to be fighting again. The git only steps back into his space, glaring in challenge.

It's no shock when Malfoy pushes back, but Harry _is_ taken by surprise when Malfoy surges at him again, not to fight him, but to slide an insistent tongue along his. His brain stutters for a half second until kicking back in and he returns the kiss. A more sane and normal person might have pulled away, but he claims neither title as he tugs Malfoy closer by the robes.

He might have worried about the very real possibility of someone walking down this hallway and spotting them if not for the distraction of a hand inching its way into his trousers. Deft fingers push them down and pull his cock free. They trail leisurely over his length, until he breaks off the kiss to whine impatiently.

Malfoy finally takes him in hand and begins stroking in earnest, using his pre-come to help ease the way. He drops his head to Malfoy's shoulder with a groan, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and coconut and some type of flower. It reminds him of the postcards he’s seen of faraway beaches. He snorts. _Of course he would smell like a seaside vacation._

“Something funny?”

He hums noncommittally, shifting enough that he can drag his teeth over Malfoy’s earlobe, enjoying the shiver it evokes. He moves his mouth lower, tasting the salt of hot skin under his tongue. Malfoy swirls a thumb around the head of his cock for a second time and he feels pressure begin to build at the base, balls pulling in towards his body. He thrusts without any finesse until he’s spilling into Malfoy’s fist, flushed and panting.

After allowing himself a minute of satiated rest, he tucks himself away and grabs Malfoy’s wrist to begin leading him down the corridor.

In a moment of typical arseholery, Malfoy slides their hands together, making Harry’s as sticky and gross as his own. He raises an eyebrow loftily, waiting for comment. Harry rolls his eyes and intertwines their fingers, causing a gross squelching sound that makes them both cringe. He laughs and sends his own own haughty look Malfoy’s way, hoping it says _you brought this on yourself_.

When he finally sees the door he’s been looking for, he opens it and ushers Malfoy inside. Of course, now that they're here, doubt finally begins to worm its way into his head. The showers that had seemed like such a great idea a few minutes ago now seem much more intimidating. They will be naked. Completely starkers. He's never been one to be embarrassed about his body, but this is completely different.

“Gods, Potter, are we going to stand here until our hands dry together?”

Blood rushes to Harry’s cheeks, but he’s saved from any unattractive stuttering as Malfoy casts a locking spell on the door and begins disrobing. He ends up staring the entire time, greedily taking in the long limbs and smooth skin and delicate shoulders and-

He makes a distressed noise as he catches sight of the scars across Malfoy’s chest. He reaches out and traces his fingers over them, an apology at the tip of his tongue.

“Don't,” Malfoy says, stepping forward and beginning to undress him as well. “If you start apologizing for things, I'll have to, and then we’ll be here all night.”

Despite the attempt at a joke, it’s clearly a serious statement. Harry nods, then kicks himself into motion. He drops the rest of his clothes quickly, squirming slightly as Malfoy’s eyes rake over his body. He’s never really wondered how attractive someone else would find him, and it seems entirely ironic that the first person to see him laid bare like this is well known for his callous judgment of others. Malfoy makes a vaguely approving sound and lets his arms encircle Harry’s waist.

There's something about being pressed up against someone like this, with nothing separating them, that makes him feel both incredibly empowered and incredibly vulnerable. He leans in to catch Malfoy’s lips in his own, walking them back towards the nearest stall. After taking a minute to set the temperature of the shower, they stand under the stream, watching the water sluice off their bodies.

Hesitantly, he reaches for the soap and lathers their hands, making sure they’re spotless before moving up Malfoy’s arm, across his chest, down to his abdomen. He feels the muscles tense and twitch beneath his palm and arousal sparks low in his gut. They watch each other quietly, eyes hooded, as the suds slowly wash away in tiny rivers.

As if with a mind of their own, his fingers find their way to Malfoy’s arse, sliding over the cheeks and kneading. It elicits a whimper, and he considers what it would be like to go further. Instead, he moves them slightly out of the spray and sinks to the floor, hands dragging down the backs of moon-white legs.

It’s a bit thrilling, this position. He thought it might be humiliating to be on his knees for someone, but there’s a power here too; right now, he’s the one in control of all the pleasure being doled out.

As he leans forward, Malfoy’s cock twitches, and he almost smiles before he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. It seems simple enough, really. He licks a strip along the shaft, wondering at how much heavier it seems against his tongue.

Malfoy breathes in sharply and lets it out in a stuttered, “F-fuck.”

He looks up and repeats the action, droplets of water occasionally dripping into his face. Without breaking eye contact, he finally takes the head into his mouth, trying to remember what had felt good for him. It’s beyond foreign, but somehow what makes him feel better about it all is who he’s doing it with. The information is filed away in his head along with all of the other strange things he doesn't like to think about. Plus, there's more pressing matters to attend to.

Determined, but well aware of his gag reflex, he moves slowly, taking in as much as he dares, cheeks hollowed. He relishes every noise as he sucks, every moan and gasp and whimper. It gets to the point where he has to brace his palms against Malfoy’s thighs to keep the blond from rutting into his mouth. There is no way he is experienced enough for that.

Remembering how it felt just to imagine Malfoy getting off on the sight of him, he deliberately removes one of his hands and curves it around his own throbbing prick. He strokes in time with the bob of his head, groaning softly, languid and content.

The air feels supercharged, raising goosebumps on his skin, and he doesn't even care about the ache that’s begun to develop in his knees from being on the hard floor. A series of babbled obscenities leave Malfoy’s mouth and he pulls back, cum spurting onto Harry’s face and chest. It’s warm against his already flushed skin and he roams a curious tongue over his lips to taste. It’s not particularly pleasant, a bit salty and sweet at the same time, but it feels good. Having someone panting above him, quivering and spent, is undeniably entrancing.

With a choked sob, he reaches his second climax of the hour, white spots dancing in his vision. His head falls forward, resting on Malfoy’s thigh, which shivers under his rough breaths.

When he finally finds the energy to stand, he slips his arms around Malfoy’s waist, tucking them together, despite the bothered huffs he gets for his effort.

“Shut up, you're ruining the moment.”

“There is no moment, Potter.”

“Not now,” he says, stepping them back under the water. “Thanks.”

Malfoy does the washing up for the both of them this time, complaining mildly that Harry has to loosen his grip if they’re going to get properly clean. His touch is surprisingly gentle, moreso when he’s wiping at Harry’s face, fingertips gliding over his cheeks, his lips, his jaw. Harry blames the blush he’s experiencing entirely on previous events and not how suddenly intimate this situation feels.

When he catches back up with Ron and Hermione later that evening, a satiated Malfoy in tow, they quietly interrogate him on what magic he’s worked to accomplish such a feat without injury. He leaves them with a vague statement about having better knowledge of Malfoy’s pressure points these days. They wouldn't want the proper answer to their question anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,  
> Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie."  
> Venus and Adonis
> 
> Lyrics from Fade Away by Ryder.


	4. Teach the Torches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco just enjoying each other's company. Be still my heart.

  
_Stay with me a little longer_  
_I will wait for you_  
_Shadows creep_  
_And want grows stronger_  
_Deeper than the truth_

{ • • • }

“Do you think it would be weird to start calling each other by our first names?” Harry asks, lying on his back and staring at the domed ceiling of the alcove they're in. It’s quiet here, the reason they had chosen it to study in the first place. Studying didn't last very long.

“Yes. Incredibly.”

“We should anyway.”

Draco turns his head away and Harry runs a finger up the side of his neck. It’s smooth and warm and ridiculously kissable. “The looks on everyone’s faces for the first few days might prove amusing.”

“Draco.” Harry feels his pulse jump slightly and smiles. “It _is_ weird. It’s…nice, though. It reminds me how far we’ve come.”

When he starts to pull away, Harry flips over, pinning him down. Draco looks mildly offended that there’s now half a body strewn across him and tries to wriggle away, to no avail.

“Are you always this clingy, or am I just special?”

That seems like a dangerous question, like fine china teetering on the edge of a table.

“You always think you're special,” Harry settles for, attempting the age old distraction of a snogging session. It works well enough, and he even manages to get their fingers intertwined.

He feels like they could kiss for hours, days, and he wouldn't get bored of it. The heat of their mouths, the breathy gasps when they break apart, the tingling in his lips. He decides to make a mission of kissing every part of Draco that he can.

His mouth trails over Draco’s jaw and neck, to his shoulder, his collarbone. He rucks up Draco’s shirt and continues to work downward, alternating between gentle, barely-there presses of his lips and drawn out love bites. He’s in the midst of peppering several kisses over the soft flesh of the Slytherin’s stomach when he hears a soft rush of breath that seems suspiciously like a repressed laugh.

Brushing his nose lightly along the same spot causes a breathless chuckle, and Draco squirms below him.

“What are you doing?”

Harry glances up with a grin before flicking his tongue out. Draco bites hard on his lip, but he just ends up snorting through his nose.

“Stop that,” he whispers, probably trying for stern but just sounding uneven.

“What? This?” Harry slides his tongue along Draco’s stomach again, and again, and again, until Draco’s is actually giggling, pushing at his shoulders and trying to get free.

When Harry finally stops, Draco scrambles away, still laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks. He send a soft kick Harry’s way as he yanks his shirt back down, but Harry simply catches his foot and wiggles his fingers.

“I swear to gods, Harry James Potter, if you even try to tickle me again, Pomfrey will be removing my foot from your arse later.”

“But there’s so many better things that could go there instead.”

Draco laughs again and shakes his leg from Harry’s grasp. “You're an idiot.”

“Well, if you’d stop distracting me from studying…”

He’s stunned into speechlessness for a moment, then leans forward, hands on his thighs. “ _I_ distract _you_ from studying? You're the one who can't keep his hands to himself.”

“You're the one who makes me that way,” Harry counters, enjoying the blush that Draco can't quite keep at bay. His hand inches forward cheekily, only to be slapped away.

“We need to finish our work.”

Harry crawls over and dips his head just enough that his lips are barely touching the shell of Draco’s ear. “I agree.”

Draco shudders, eyes falling shut. “I am never studying with you again.”

“Mmhm,” Harry murmurs, sliding his hand into Draco’s trousers.

“I mean it.”

“I believe you.” He rubs lightly against the bulge beneath his hand, teasing.

Draco whines impatiently. “Never.”

Harry’s left hand creeps under Draco’s shirt, fingernails scraping gently at his back. “I said I believe you.”

“I'm absolutely going to fail all of my classes this year if I stay here any longer,” he huffs, bucking hips slightly.

“Stay anyway,” Harry whispers.

After a breath, he lets his head fall back. “Okay.”

Harry brings him off punishingly slow, enjoying every sound, every subtle movement that he makes. He’s so wound up by the time Draco gets around to touching _him_ , that he comes embarrassingly fast.

His face heats and he tucks it into Draco’s shoulder when a judgemental eyebrow is directed his way.

“A bit overexcited, were we?”

“Shut up, it’s not my fault you're so- so-” He struggles to find a good word, then settles lamely on, “you.”

Draco pats his head patronizingly, which somehow turns into petting. It's a surprisingly tender gesture and he stays quiet for awhile, simply enjoying the feeling of it.

Of course, his big mouth has to ruin it, when it opens if it's own accord and spills out, “I wish you hadn't been such an arse as a kid.”

Draco goes very still, probably trying to decide whether to take offense or agree.

“I just mean, I think we could've been friends. We get along surprisingly well, don't you think?”

Taking a deep breath, Draco goes back to running his fingers over Harry’s head. “I always wanted to be your friend, even when I hated you really, but it was always for selfish reasons. I wanted to be friends with you for your name, your status, your fame. I didn't understand what true friendship was for most of my life. By the time I did, I didn't know how to get it.”

“Reckon we’re friends _now_?”

“You’re the expert. You tell me.”

“I like to think so,” he says.

Almost too quiet to catch, Draco whispers, “Me too.”

Something warm and terrifying takes root in Harry’s chest. He closes his eyes and pushes it back into the recesses of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!"  
> Romeo and Juliet - Act 1, Scene 5
> 
> Lyrics from War of Hearts by Ruelle. Sensing a pattern here? :p
> 
> If you're enjoying, please let me know! Thanks for sticking with. :)


	5. Stars Hide Your Fires

_I just need somebody close_  
_I don't need your heart of gold_  
_Leave your conscience at the door_

{ • • • }

Harry readjusts the strap of his bag as he walks down the hall, Ron and Hermione to his right. They’d all been studying in the library, surprisingly without any pushing from Hermione. They want to be prepared for whatever they decide to do once they leave Hogwarts. Sure, they could probably get jobs easier than most of the other students without trying, but that's not the kind of life they want to live, just coasting by on their names and previous accomplishments.

“I need more Potions practice,” Ron says, linking hands with Hermione.

“Draco’s been been helping me with them. You _could_ come study with us?” It would at least keep his libido in check, so he could get more done.

Ron pulls a face and mouths Draco’s name. “I don't think that's a great idea.”

“He’s not so bad anymore, you know.”

“I don't think I’ll ever get used to you defending Malfoy.”

Harry sighs. “I made my peace with it all months ago. And I think, if things had been different, we could've all been mates.”

He’s thought of this on more than one occasion since the war ended, and even a few times before that. What would it have been like if he’d befriended Draco that first year? Could he have made a difference in the way the boy thought? If he hadn't been so adamant about not wanting to be Slytherin, would he have been sorted there? Could he have stopped any of the students from joining Voldemort’s side? Or would he have ended up joining _them_? He’d like to think he’d never do that, but it’s so easy to shape a kid into what you want them to be. And would he have stayed friends with Ron? Become friends with Hermione? When he tries to picture the three of them that young, with Draco at their side, it seems outlandish.

In the end, it’s pointless to ruminate about. Any infinite number of decisions and events through the course of history could've made his life drastically different. What's important is dealing with what actually happened.

“I know you're friends with him now,” Hermione says, leaning around Ron to look at him, “but the things he's said and done…Are you sure he's changed or is it just an act of self preservation?”

“What?”

She purses her lips, thinking over her words. “You don't provoke a lion when you sleep in its den.”

“Shouldn't you not provoke a lion at all?” Ron asks.

“This _is_ Malfoy we’re talking about,” she says, and Ron nods sagely, as if she's just imparted some great wisdom onto him.

Harry stops walking and they come to a halt alongside him. “Hermione, do you think your parents did a good job at raising you?”

She hesitates for a moment, then lifts her chin a fraction. “Of course.”

“Ron?”

Ron tilts his head. “Mate, you know the answer to that.”

“Well, the way you think and behave, that's _learnt_ behavior when you're growing up. You aren't born with prejudices. You're taught them. Yeah, Malfoy was an awful prick, and he did awful things, but he grew up, and he let go of that awfulness. He _decided_ to be a better person. I think that's worth giving him a chance.”

The two seem to consider his words, thankfully. As they near the corner, the Slytherin in question rounds it, looking a bit stormy. They watch silently as he approaches.

He nods curtly at Hermione and Ron, then shifts his gaze to Harry. “Are you busy?”

Harry looks at his friends, who stare back uncertainly. They hadn't been planning anything in particular, really. “Go on ahead. I'll catch up with you later.

After a beat, they nod and continue walking, sparing a single glance back over their shoulders.

A cool hand slides under Harry’s shirt, making him start, and he sends a panicked glance at Draco, then at Ron and Hermione’s retreating figures. If they turned around to look at him again, it would be pretty hard to explain this away.

“I want you to fuck me,” Draco purrs, pressing closer.

He keeps any spontaneous noises to himself through sheer fear that it would draw his friends attention, biting down hard on his lip. He waits for them to turn and head down a different corridor before he finally responds, hissing out a strangled, “ _What_?”

The hand on his side traces patterns into his quickly heating skin. “I want you to fuck me. Now.”

“Now? Are you sure? Isn't that a bit sudden?”

Draco splutters disbelievingly. “Sudden? Have I been sharing mutual orgasms with some other Potter for the last three months?”

“I just mean…you seem kind of…” He waves a hand vaguely and Draco raises his eyebrows, hand stilling. “You seem a bit…strange? I don't want to do something we’ll regret.”

Draco’s expression closes off and he begins to pull away. “If you don't want this-”

Harry catches him by the arm, rubbing a soothing thumb over the skin of his wrist. “I want it. I want you. I just want to make sure that you’re certain about this.”

He rolls his eyes, as if Harry is being ridiculous. “Would I be here, telling you I want to, if I wasn't?”

“Maybe? Sometimes people think they're ready for something and they're not.”

“Mordred’s hairy balls, turn off your Gryffindor sensibilities for once. I want this, okay?” The intense look is back in his eye, setting a low burn in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Okay.”

He huffs and begins leading Harry along, like a mirror image of all those weeks ago when they’d gone to the showers together. (And Harry’s knees did not appreciate that whole stint when he woke up the next morning.)

They end up in one of the many unused rooms at Hogwarts and Draco makes quick work of sealing the entrance, casting a silencing spell, and transfiguring a bed out of the lone table in front of them. Harry realizes, just as he had in the showers, that he’s entirely out of his depth.

“I know spells,” Draco says, removing his clothes and climbing onto the bed. The dim lighting casts shadows across his body and gives him a slightly more coloured complexion. “I know what I'm doing.”

A bit of possessiveness flares up in Harry and it dawns on him that they’d never made an agreement to see only each other. The answering discomfort to that thought is sharp and unwelcome.

“If you stand over there any longer wondering if I'm secretly shagging anyone else in this school, I'm going to hex you.”

Harry shakes his head, making a point to focus on undressing. “Are you?”

“No.”

“Have you?”

A heaviness settles in his stomach when there's no immediate response. After a moment, he finally hears a strained-sounding, “Jealous, Potter?”

The weight disappears when he looks up to see Draco spread out on the bed, head lowered and two fingers inside of himself.

“Maybe. But that didn't answer my question.”

Draco whines, working in a third finger. “I’m no saint, but no, I haven't.”

“Good.” He drops the last of his clothes on the floor, silently pleased, and crawls onto the bed between Draco’s knees. If this is a first for both of them, then-

“You better not start spouting some nonsense about taking things slow. I prepped for this before I came to you.”

“Really?” He bites his lip, envisioning it in his head before snapping himself back to reality. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Draco moves his fingers to Harry’s cock, warm and slick. He strokes it for a short time before guiding the head to his arse, completely skipping any foreplay. “Maybe I want it to hurt.”

Harry swallows hard, pushing into him slowly. Despite the attempt at being gentle, it doesn't seem all that pleasant, judging by Draco’s scrunched expression. Any pleasure Harry is feeling is negated by his worry, and he’s about to ask if Draco is okay when he’s beat to it with a stern, “I'm fine. Keep going.”

He does, until he’s all the way in, and concentrates on gripping Draco’s hips to keep himself from automatically jerking.

After a few deep breaths, Draco lies all the way back, eyes closed tight. “Okay. Move.”

He starts slow, setting a sluggish pace until Draco can get used to the feeling. He’s nearly dizzy already for the feeling of it and it almost makes him say something stupid, something that would ruin the whole casual sex thing they've got going on. But it’s on the tip of his tongue, waiting. He leans down, bracing a hand on the bed to drag his mouth over Draco’s throat, letting the words roll off his tongue silently.

When he straightens, he realizes they've only multiplied, spinning through his head and tripping over each other. He thinks he could touch Draco for the rest of his life and it would never stop the way his feelings seems to pour from his fingertips. _I want you. I want you. I want us._

Draco’s eyes flutter open long enough to locate Harry’s hands and return them to his hips. He pushes down on them, urging a stronger hold. “Tighter.”

Harry complies, though he’s a bit worried he might grip too hard. Draco hardly seems to mind, in any case, finally becoming vocal, body beginning to writhe.

His pace quickens as he gets lost in the sensations, every sound falling from Draco’s mouth lighting something inside him. Everything drops away, until there’s only the two of them, only this moment.

Draco’s hand reaches between them and Harry tracks the movement intently, watching him pleasure himself, deft fingers working the shaft of his cock. He’s biting his lip and there’s a small crease between his eyebrows and he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

When he comes, he mixes Harry’s name with expletives until they sound one and the same, and Harry is right there with him, eyes squeezed shut, feeling like lightning lives in his veins.

He’s utterly spent by the time his hips stop bucking, tensed muscles finally relaxing. There’s a minute of heavy breathing, just the two of them panting together, and all he can think is that he wishes Draco would look at him.

He gives up on the hope and pulls out, which is an entirely new and not particularly nice sensation. Judging by Draco’s groan, he doesn't seem to think so either.

“Ugh, I still have an essay to complete,” he mumbles, Harry collapsing beside him. “I don't even want to look at a piece of schoolwork right now.”

“I feel that way all the time.”

He snorts, slapping a hand on Harry’s stomach. “Shut up.”

They lie in silence for awhile longer before agreeing that they should head back to the common room.

“We’ll need an excuse for why I needed you, too.”

Harry nods, running his fingers over Draco’s where they still rest on his stomach. It’d be nice if excuses weren't necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Stars, hide your fires;  
> Let not light see my black and deep desires"  
> Macbeth - Act 1, Scene 4
> 
> Lyrics from Fade Away by Ryder.


	6. Quality of Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the semi-late posting. I usually have it up in the early afternoon, rather than late night.
> 
> I've been considering writing a sequel to this story. Something fluffy, to make up for any incoming hurt. But I've kind of got several other stories I'm already doing. I've never been good with sticking projects through tbh it's a miracle I have finished War of Hearts at all. *stares shiftily at the piles of wips in my fic folder*

_I can’t help but be wrong in the dark_  
_Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts_  
_I can’t help but want oceans to part_  
_Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts_

{ • • • }

“We could go to my parents,” Hermione suggests, her book, miraculously, forgotten on her lap.

“But if we’re going to bring anyone along, it would be a little cramped.”

“We could just do the three of us,” Ron says. “Like old times.”

Hermione smiles at him, but it doesn't look all that happy. “It's our last year at Hogwarts. We should do things together while we still can.”

Harry feels someone sit next to him and he looks over to where Draco and Parkinson are trying to fit on the sofa with him while still having their own conversation. He shuffles over, until they’re all snugly fit together.

“What about getting a big hotel room?”

“That would be quite expensive and I don't think everyone would be okay with having you pay for everything.”

He sighs and rests his head on the back cushion. “Maybe we should think of something else to do then.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, sighing as well.

“I really wanted to see these VHS things though,” Ron grumbles, absentmindedly running a thumb over her wrist. _It must be nice to be able to be open about a relationship,_ Harry thinks, _to able to touch them whenever you want._

He’s broken from his ponderings when Draco lets out a hushed, “Ow,” drawing his attention. He looks over to see the two Slytherins having what seems to be a heated conversation with just their eyes. After a good twenty seconds of glaring and minute facial twitches, Draco whips back around, making him jump.

“Am I correct in assuming you need use of a muggle house for the holidays?”

“Am I correct in assuming you were eavesdropping on our conversation?” Ron snipes, and Harry shoots him a warning glance.

Draco, however, just takes the jibe as confirmation. “My parents own a house in some muggle town. It would be simple enough to gain access to it.”

“Why does your family have a _muggle_ home?” Ron asks at the same time that Hermione asks if they can see the place first.

“It’s not important _why_ we have it. The important thing is that we _do_. What exactly do you need it for, anyway?”

“We want to have a movie marathon,” Harry says, “Is there a TV and VHS player there?”

Draco shrugs, his arm jostling Harry’s shoulder. “There's plenty of muggle things there, but I don't know what most of them are. And I haven't been there in years.”

“Well,” Hermione says, closing her book, “it’s worth looking at. We should see who’s going to come.”

“Who’s invited?” Parkinson asks, reminding everyone suddenly of her presence.

Hermione meets her eyes with a steely determination. “Whoever would like to come.”

\--

“It’s even smaller than I remember,” Draco says, lip curled in distaste as he takes in the lounge.

“It is quite…quaint….compared to the manor,” Parkinson agrees, linking arms with him.

Harry shrugs and begins inspecting the TV and nearby devices. There _is_ a VHS player, as well as a small shelf with several movies on it, but there's also things Harry’s never seen before. “Better than a cupboard.”

Hermione wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes comfortingly before dropping it to help him sort out all the electronics. He gives up quickly, leaving her to all the cables and buttons, and rejoins the group that is standing around awkwardly. It had been impossible to get some people to come because they didn't trust a Malfoy owned home, and some simply had plans, but it turned out for the best in the end. As it is, several people will have to make do with sitting on the floor. Altogether, they were a group of eleven.

“Alright, while Hermione is doing that, we need to set out the snacks and find some quilts and pillows. And make sure you've used the loo before the film starts.”

There's nodding en masse, and everyone begins to scatter in groups of two and three. When Parkinson is grabbed by Luna and dragged off to the stairs with a look of mild panic, he and Draco just shrug and keep walking. The first door they open leads to the cellar and Draco raises his wand, but Harry simply leans around him and flicks the switch on the wall.

He glares at the bright light above them. “Are you sure Muggles don't have any magic?”

Harry laughs and starts down into the cellar. “Electric isn't magic.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

They begin searching the area in companionable silence, but there seems to be little to be found. “I don’t think there’s anything down here but wine. We should head back up.”

“Did you really live in a cupboard?”

Harry freezes on the first step, clenching his fists. “Yeah.”

A soft touch slides over his hand and he allows the fingers to twine with his own.

“I never really believed that.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to push the images from his head. “It doesn't matter now.”

“It matters because it happened. But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Merlin knows we all have things we’d rather not talk about.”

“You're right. I don't.” He takes another breath and squeezes Draco’s hand just as the door opens and Neville pokes his head into the stairway. They startle apart, but it’s obvious by the way Nev’s gaze swings up to their eyes a second too late that the damage has been done.

“We’ve got everything we need, and we’ve found the toilet if you need directions. You should come up before all the treats are gone.”

Harry nods dumbly, his feet beginning to climb the stairs on autopilot. “We were just on our way up. Nothing down here.”

Neville smiles and disappears, giving Harry an opportunity to look over his shoulder at Draco. He’s met with a blank expression, which only makes him more anxious because he has no idea what feelings it’s covering.

He doubts that Neville will say anything to anyone, but if it had been someone else to open that door? Of course that possibility has always been there, but it suddenly feels more real. And realistically, there's only three options for them: tell their friends, be more careful, or end things. The last option doesn't register on Harry’s list, and he’s tired of pretending he doesn't know why that is.

How in the hells he managed to develop feelings for Draco Malfoy, of all people, is beyond him. It’s easy to imagine what his life could've been, if he’d stayed with Ginny. Two point five kids and a white picket fence. That's what people usually wanted. It's what he used to want. A normal life, just like everyone else. That scenario seems like it’s missing something now. He does still love Ginny, but it’s not the same. It was juvenile, what they had, the simplest and most obvious option. Both of them deserved more than that.

He wonders what his relationship with Draco would be right now if he’d stayed with Ginny. Would they still be friends? Would Draco be the neighbour across the road with his own white picket fence? That sort of life still seems so far off, but it’s not. It’s so close, breathing down his neck. It feels like everything is closing in around him as this school year draws to a close. He wants, desperately, and somehow doesn't know _what_ it is he wants.

Someone jostles him and he blinks out of his reverie. He vaguely remembers reaching the lounge, starting the movie, and finding a place on the floor to sit, too caught up in his thoughts to really pay a mind to what he was doing.

Someone on the TV says something funny and the room laughs, with the exception of himself, silently tying himself up in knots, and Draco, sat tensely at his right and probably doing the same.

Anxiety crawls around under his skin and he wraps his arms around his knees to stop from getting up and leaving. It's going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The quality of mercy is not strain’d,  
> It droppeth as gentle as rain from heaven  
> Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:  
> It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”  
> The Merchant of Venice - Scene 1, Act 4
> 
> Lyrics from War of Hearts by Ruelle.


	7. Our Doubts are Traitors

_Feeling so empty_  
_Got no more in me_  
_To shake this feeling_  
_Come over me_

{ • • • }

A sharp pain in Harry’s forehead yanks him to wakefulness. After a moment of panic, he realizes that he’s not at Hogwarts, but one of the Malfoy’s houses, and that he hit his head on the coffee table in his sleep. His breathing calms with the self reassurance that Voldemort is dead and gone, and he glances around the darkened room. He can only see the vague shapes of people under covers, barring Draco and Ron to either side of him. Somewhere in this mass of bodies, two separate snores make an attempt at a dreadful harmony and Harry can’t believe that it hasn't woken anyone.

After another half hour of listening to other people sleep, it’s clear that he won't be joining them anytime soon. Moving as carefully as he can, he squirms out from his sandwiched position and stands. It’s especially challenging to get to the hallway without trampling anyone, but he manages, and is soon browsing the cupboards in the kitchen. He settles on making a pot of tea and helping himself to some preserved fruit.

As he sits at the table eating peaches straight from the can, the morning chill creeping into his bones, he hears a groan and a hushed apology before someone pads down the hall. Harry listens with disinterest as the person trails into the loo and a minute later treads back to the lounge. He’s surprised when instead of silence, the footsteps come again.

Hermione enters the kitchen with a bulky blanket wrapped around her, hair in an absolute state from sleep, and nods at him as she takes a seat.

He pops another peach chunk into his mouth and she scoots her chair close enough to lean on him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hair makes an effort to infiltrate his food and he pushes it away, trying to tuck it between them to keep it in place. She smiles up at him and he finds it in himself to smile back.

“Why’re you out here, ‘Mione?”

“I saw you’d gotten up, thought you could use some company.”

He finishes off the can and sets it down, then prods at her until she gets the hint and unravels her linen cocoon. She drapes it over their laps and returns to the position she was in before, letting out a morose sigh he knows has nothing to do with sharing her covers.

“We’re going to be leaving Hogwarts soon,” she says. “For good.”

His chest tightens at the thought, a dull panic seeping into his bloodstream. “Yeah.”

“It’s…kind of scary. No matter how much planning and preparing I do, it doesn't seem to make me feel any better.”

“At least you're planning and preparing. I've no idea what I'm going to do with myself when school’s done.”

She snuggles closer, wrapping one of his hands in hers. “I hope you get what you want out of life, Harry. You deserve it.”

Tears prickle his eyes and he blinks them away. A series of grunts interrupts them and someone comes stumbling down the hall. A head of orange hair pokes around the doorway as Ron looks in at them, midway through a yawn. He rubs his eyes and then joins them, picking up a chair and setting it next to Hermione, then tugging the blanket over himself as well. It’s not quite long enough to fit over all three of them, but none of them mind.

“Right party out here,” he mumbles, and Hermione slides a hand over so she’s holding onto both of them.

“I hope you guys get everything you want out of life too,” Harry says after a minute.

Ron offers a drowsy smile. “Thanks.”

They stay like that for awhile before they return to their makeshift beds. Harry says his goodnights and curls onto his side, facing Draco, and finally goes back to sleep.

+

“Why didn't anyone think of buying breakfast food?” Ron groans, staring into an empty fridge. Hermione stares off into space with a frown, probably wondering how it was possible that she _didn't_ think of something. He leaves them to it, knowing they’ll probably be in the same position for the next fifteen minutes.

He trails up the stairs, curious as to what the rest of the house looks like. There’s several more rooms, but nothing of note. A few personal items here and there, but so sparse and carefully placed that they seem more like the illusion of personal touch. Spotting a radio in one of the bedrooms, he turns it on, flicking through the stations aimlessly. He settles on a catchy pop tune and leans against the wall, tapping his fingers against his leg, staring out the window at the other houses in the cul de sac.

“It’s a wonder that none of us thought to come sleep on the beds.”

He jumps slightly at the voice, eyes darting to the doorway. Draco stands with a hand on his hip and looking thoroughly unimpressed, though with the lack of forethought or Harry’s skittishness, it’s unclear. The tenseness from last night seems to be gone, but Harry knows better than anyone how skilled Draco can be in hiding his true emotions.

“It’s the opposite of missing the forest for the trees. We forgot that the forest was made of trees at all.”

Draco nods and joins him by the window, staring curiously at a girl walking several dogs at once. “Sometimes we get so caught up in the big picture that we forget a painting is made with several brush strokes.”

Harry chuckles weakly and rubs his eyes, wondering if they're really only talking about their sleeping arrangements. “It’s too early to be philosophical. We sound like pretentious prats.”

His gaze catches on something past Draco’s shoulder, and he realizes quickly that it’s Neville. Nev makes a valiant effort to look casual and he continues on quickly, to Merlin knows where.

“Uh, I just have to speak to a guy about a thing.” Harry waves towards the door and hurries out to catch Neville.

He finds his friend standing awkwardly in the room at the end of the hall and gives him an exasperated look.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I came looking for another toilet. I didn't mean to invade your privacy.”

Harry finds himself smiling at Neville’s pleading look and he shakes his head as he closes the door. “It’s fine. I just, about last night, I wanted to ask you not to tell anyone.”

Neville nods. “Of course. Though, you know, I don't think anyone would care as much as you think. Well, anyone who matters, in any case.”

“It’s not _anyone_ that's the issue,” Harry says, staring hard at a spot on the floorboards, “It’s _Draco_.”

There's a short silence and then Neville places a hand on his shoulder. “That's rough. Have you talked to him about it?”

“I knew what I was getting myself into when this started. It was a bad idea.”

“Maybe you should talk to him anyway.”

Harry glances up at Neville, who’s looking at him with a patient smile. He offers one of his own. “I'll do that.”

Neville drops his hand and they walk into the hall together, somehow nosediving into a conversation about the magical properties of a newly discovered sea plant. When they reach the room with the radio, Draco is already gone. Harry frowns and heads down the stairs, listening to Nev’s easy chatter. When there’s no sign of Draco in the lounge either, he pats Neville on the back and says they’ll finish the talk later.

He looks in the kitchen next, finding only Hermione, Ron, and two Ravenclaw girls he’d never gotten to know particularly well. The girls all seem to be in a deep discussion and Ron looks up at him with wide eyes and mouths, “ _Save me_.”

Harry gives him two thumbs up and receives a scowl and two fingers of his own, though holding an entirely different meaning. He grins and moves onto the dining room, but Draco isn't there either.

Backtracking through the rooms, he wonders if maybe Draco is still upstairs somewhere. He runs into Luna on his way there and decides maybe he should just start asking anyone if they've seen him.

“Do you know where Draco is?”

Luna looks at him speculatively for a moment, tilting her head. “He left.”

“He _left_?”

“A cloud followed him out. It looked like it was about to storm.”

Harry gives her a short thanks for telling him, then double checks all the rooms again anyway, but Draco and Parkinson are nowhere to be found.

He ends up staring blankly out at the street below, something worrisome twisting in his stomach, while a woman on the radio sings about it being a cruel summer. _It’s not even summer_ , he thinks darkly, turning the radio off.

The silence is somehow worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Our doubts are traitors  
> And make us lose the good we oft might win  
> By fearing to attempt. "  
> Measure for Measure - Act 1, Scene 4
> 
> Lyrics from Fade Away by Ryder.


	8. This Above All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left y'all. *cues the instrumental version of go the distance from hercules*
> 
> Honestly the fic just ran away w me by like chapter six and this is where it led me.

_I can't help but love you_  
_Even though I try not to_  
_I can't help but want you_  
_I know that I'd die without you_

{ • • • }

“Can I talk to you?”

Harry glances up at Ginny, who doesn't wait for an answer before sitting down next to him. He hadn't even noticed her approach.

“Don't have much of a choice, do I?” He gives her a wry smile and she returns it.

“Not a chance.” She starts ripping up blades of grass, seemingly trying to figure out what she wants to say. Eventually, she comes out with, “I'm sorry for avoiding you this year.”

He crosses his arms over his knees and rests his head on them. “Well, I haven't exactly made an effort to talk to you either.”

“Right, we've both been idiots, and I'd like for us to stop now, because I miss you.”

She looks determined, but there's something about her that seems a bit sad. He stares at her, trying to work out if the warmth he’s feeling is strictly platonic, and realizes with a rush of relief that it is. Following that is a sick sort of turning in his stomach because it'd be easier to love Ginny, and if he’s relieved that he’s _not_ in love with her, it probably means--

He buries his face in his arms and groans.

“That's not exactly the response I was hoping for,” Ginny says quietly.

“No, sorry, Gin, I miss you too, I've just got a lot on my mind.”

There's a sudden pressure against his side as she leans against him. “Want to talk about it?”

He groans again. “I don't even want to think about it.”

“You might feel better. You've been moping all over the burrow since you came here. I hear that might have something to do with a disturbingly pale Slytherin.”

Harry snorts and bumps her with his shoulder and she laughs.

“Keep your hair on,” she chirps. “I can't pretend to like him, or understand why _you_ do, but I'm not angry about it.”

He peeks up at her with his best skeptical expression and she grins, eyes crinkling. 

“I'm not angry about it _anymore_. I was, admittedly, considering hexing the both of you to another dimension for a while, when you first started being friendly with him. I was incredibly bitter that a former Death Eater got to talk and joke with you while I couldn't. Then I realized that I was jealous of _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people, and that I was better than that.” She pauses and gives him a thoughtful expression. “Why _are_ you friends with Malfoy?”

He sighs and unfolds so he can lie back on the cold ground. “I just…like him. It sounds mental, I know, but he’s actually alright now. He’s funny, even if half his jokes are at my expense, and he’s quite smart too, surprisingly; I used to think he bought and blackmailed his way to good marks. He’s also loyal to the people he truly cares about, and he hides it well behind his gittishness, but he can be pretty thoughtful as well. I don't know, Gin, I just like him.”

She gazes down at him with a half-amused, half-pained look about her. “It sounds like you know quite well, and it also sounds as though you might more than just like him.”

Harry closes his eyes and listens to his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. “Maybe,” he whispers.

She slides her hand into his and squeezes. “You going to be okay?”

“Maybe,” he says again, trying not to think about the fact that he’s just come out about his sexuality and his feelings for Draco in one fell swoop. Trying not to think about anything but the early spring air and the sounds of the burrow.

 +

For the first week back at Hogwarts, Draco manages to completely bypass Harry’s attempts at talking to him, impressive considering they share a dorm. It’s ironic that when he’s finally back on speaking terms with Ginny, someone else in his life falls off the grid. Or jumps off it, more like.

When Draco finally does start talking to Harry again, he acts as if nothing strange has gone on and, “Would you please close your mouth before your food falls out? Honestly, Potter, you've defeated the dark lord but you haven't figured out how to properly eat yet?”

Just to check that he hasn't gone round the bend, he glances about the table, finding several faces of confusion and worry staring back at him. Not him then, who's lost his grip, just Draco.

The rest of breakfast is spent awkwardly, with Draco persistent in ignoring the awkwardness altogether. He hadn't run off suddenly and then ignored Harry’s presence for seven straight days, no. Everything is completely, utterly _normal_. Harry isn't sure whether to be relieved that they're talking again or peeved that an explanation for what the hells happened doesn't seem to be forthcoming.

He physically pulls Draco aside after they've finished eating, not giving him a chance to make excuses and run off again. 

“What's all this been about then?” he asks heatedly, anger outweighing his relief.

“All what?” Draco returns, a picture of innocence. Harry glares at him until he breaks and scowls back petulantly. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“You just _left_ , Draco, without saying anything! Then you acted as if I was the plague for a week. _Yes_ , I’d say we have to talk about this.” 

“We’re talking _now_ , so why does it matter?” 

“Because I was worried, you git! Worried and confused and- and angry!”

Draco swallows and looks down to where Harry is still holding onto his arm, eyebrows furrowed in a way that might be cute if it weren't so infuriating at the moment. The silence it's nearly suffocating.

Just as he’s about to go off again, Draco sucks in a deep breath and lets it back out. “I’m sorry.”

All at once, the fight drains from Harry and leaves a weary exhaustion in its place. He’s always known Draco’s first instinct to perceived danger is to run; it shouldn't have surprised him that the tosser would have an existential crisis after Nev caught them being a bit too friendly.

He sighs. “Apology accepted.”

“I think we should stop this,” Draco says. The brief moment of relief vanishes, and Harry hopes he’s misunderstood.

“Stop what?”

Draco waves a hand vaguely between them. “This. Whatever _this_ is.” 

It’s like the words have physically struck him. His hand drops from Draco’s arm like deadweight and he takes an unsteady step back. His head is all noise; there’s so much that he can't even think through it.

“Why?”

Draco finally lifts his gaze. He looks confused, uncertain even, but the expression is gone too soon to tell. “We were never going to be more than a fumble in the dark. It’s better to end it now before someone less understanding than Longbottom catches us.”

Harry nods, because what else can he do? A relationship is a two person job. If Draco doesn't want one, then that's the end of it. His breathing picks up. His robes feel hot and constricting. This is not how the conversation was supposed to go. 

Draco moves to leave, then pauses. “Are we still…friends?” He says the last word tentatively, as if he’s not sure they were ever friends to begin with. Maybe they weren't. Harry’s not really sure either.

He wants to say yes, because he isn't an arsehole, and it’s not Draco’s fault that he’s gone and caught feelings, but he can't get the word out. He looks down at the ground. There’s too many emotions coming at once and he latches onto the anger like slipping into a well-worn pair of trainers. He’s not even sure where to aim the anger, and isn't that the story of his life? He’s angry at Draco for not hurting like he is. He’s angry at himself for thinking they could have ever been something more than _a fumble in the dark_. He’s angry at life for consistently dangling happiness in front of him and tearing it away. He’s angry at being so angry to begin with. He thinks, beneath it all, he’s mostly just sad.

By the time he trusts himself to speak again, Draco is long gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This above all: to thine own self be true,  
> And it must follow, as the night the day,  
> Thou canst not then be false to any man."  
> Hamlet - Act 1, Scene 3
> 
> Lyrics from War of Hearts by Ruelle.


	9. Doubt That the Sun Doth Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who have stuck by this week after week! I'll definitely consider a sequel, but there's other things I'm working on right now. Please subscribe to my Draco/Harry series if you'd like to be notified of when I post drarry fics. :) And ofc, you can find me on Tumblr @trashkinq or @vipertooths

_I just fuck to fade away, fade away_  
_And since there's no more love_  
_I just came to fuck_  
_I just came to…_

{ • • • }

“Harry! HARRY!”

Harry glances toward the ground and sees Rom, arms waving, trying to get his attention. He pitches the broom down, enjoying the sting of cool air on his cheeks, and comes to land next to his friend.

“Yeah?”

Ron’s eyebrows climb his forehead in disbelief “I've been calling you for ages! You were in another world up there!”

Harry puts on his best apologetic expression, though it’s slightly ruined by his panting. “Sorry. What is it?”

“Do I need a reason to want to hang out with my best mate? Merlin, you look like you're ready to pass out. Why didn't you stop sooner?”

Now that it’s been mentioned, Harry’s muscles do feel a bit like goo. “I didn't really notice.”

Ron shakes his head and starts walking, obviously expecting Harry to follow. “Don't think I haven't noticed how strange you've been the past few weeks, studying like Hermione, flying by yourself for hours, avoiding Malfoy and Parkinson like they're diseased. I mean, I have no problem with that, but it’s still weird for you.”

“Has it been that obvious?” He thought he was behaving mostly normal, all things considered.

Ron looks at him doubtfully. No, apparently, he hasn't. “I managed to keep Hermione from worrying, but I don't know how long that’ll keep up. Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and the ferret? My offer to punch him in his pointy nose still stands, you know.”

Harry’s lips twitch involuntarily. “That won't be necessary, but thanks anyway.”

Ron nods jovially and pats his shoulder. “Well, let's get you inside. You look like you could use something to eat.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Hungry, are you?”

“Starved,” Ron answers, and laughs as well. “Worked up quite an appetite hunting you down.”

“I'm sure you did.”

Just before they make it to the doors, Ron casts him a sympathetic smile. “Just, you're alright, yeah?”

He looks a little sad, like Harry keeping anything from him is the worst kind of betrayal. After all they've gone through, it kind of is. Harry wonders when he was ever going to tell Ron and Hermione about him and Draco. But he supposes that choice has been taken out of his hands now anyway.

He puts on a brave face and nods. As long as he has his two best mates, he'll be alright. “Let's go eat.”

+

He slides into his seat at the end of the table and is immediately pulled into conversation about what the best magical creature is. He listens to everyone’s argument for their favorite impassively while he eats. Luna swears by some invisible creature that no one’s ever heard of before, and she begins pointing out where they are around the hall. Everyone’s eyes wander aimlessly around, spotting nothing out of place, but humoring her anyway.

Harry’s eyes rove over Draco a few seats down on the opposite side of the table and find that the Slytherin is already staring back. An unwelcome prickle of emotion springs forward and he jerks his head away. Draco hasn’t had any problems with their separation, and every look cast his way is like an extra jab in his side. He can barely look at Draco without a cauldron of feelings bubbling up inside of him, but the way Draco looks at him is always cautious and mildly curious, like he’s some experiment that might blow up.

He takes a deep breath and tries to refocus on the rest of the table. It’s been easier to do that lately. He’s not sure if that's a good sign or not; is he finally starting to control his thoughts or is he only running away from them? He’s just tired of thinking about Draco or if he stills wants to be an auror or how many friends will drift away after school is over. He’s just tired, full stop.

“Did you finish your transfiguration essay?”

Harry glances up at Hermione and gives a small smile. “Yeah.”

“I'm so proud of you Harry! You've been doing so well recently.”

He almost laughs. _So_ well. Sure.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Draco whisper something to Parkinson and stand. He tracks Draco inconspicuously across the room and out the door.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Ginny says quietly to his left. Maybe inconspicuousness isn't his strong suit.

“Because that worked out so well last time.”

“Listen, I was just as well to leave it alone, because I still hate the prat, but you _miss_ him, Harry. You miss enough people already, at least this one you can do something about.”

The words strike deep and he squeezes his eyes closed, trying to make them hurt less than they do. “ _He_ doesn't miss _me_.”

She places a hand on his leg and gives it a few pats. “Are you sure about that?”

“Quite,” he answers, still staring at the back of his eyelids.

“You might be wrong. Isn't that worth taking the chance?”

He considers her words and finds, reluctantly, that she has a point. Scrapping the idea of just going to sleep for the next ten hours, he excuses himself from the table, letting his friends know that there’s something he needs to take care of. Ginny smiles at him and he commands his exhausted muscles to move.

They comply, luckily, and he makes his way out of the hall without falling over. As he walks, he compiles a list of places to check, but by the fourth spot, his legs are protesting heavily. He should have just gone and gotten his map from the beginning, but it had completely slipped his mind, and climbing the tower again seems like far too much work.

He runs over the list again, trying to figure out where Draco could've disappeared to. Where would he go if he were Draco?

It strikes him that he’s been looking at it all wrong. If someone really wanted to be alone, they wouldn't go to their _usual_ spots, they would go to the place everyone would check last.

He finds Draco in the first spot he checks on his revised list, and breaths a sigh of relief.

Draco stares at him in shock for a moment before snapping back to himself and trying to rush out.

Harry grabs his arm and pulls him back into the Room of Requirement, shutting the door and leaning against it. “Why do you have to run away from everything?”

“Why do you have to run _at_ everything?”

They stare at each other for a long time, like a game of silent chicken. Who can stay quiet the longest? It’s more dangerous than you might think.

Just when he’s about to break, Draco surges forward and catches his mouth in a rough kiss. His eyes close automatically and he lifts his hands to Draco’s hips. He missed this. Draco moans and presses closer and Harry feels his thoughts slipping away. He turns his head away and takes a gulp of air. This isn't what he came for.

“I don't want this,” he says, and the truth of it hurts. He doesn't want _this_ \- touching as a means of distraction, watching Draco walk away from him yet again.

Draco pulls back as if he’s been struck and wraps his arms around his middle. “What _do_ you want? How did you even find me?”

“I looked where I thought you wouldn't be.”

“Why? Why now? You haven't spoken to me in almost a month.”

Harry sighs and glances around the room. It’s small and dimly lit and completely empty of anything beside the two of them. He rubs his face and looks back at Draco. “It’s a two way street.”

Draco doesn't respond to that, simply slides down the opposite wall to the floor and stares at his lap.Harry feels so, _so_ tired. He knows it’s not all from flying and walking around the castle. No, it’s much harder to fix than getting a good night’s rest.

After a few more minutes of silence, Harry considers just leaving, then remembers Ginny’s words. He’s not content with letting things stay the way they are, missing someone who’s not even _gone_. He takes a seat across from Draco and pulls his knees up to rest his arms on them.

“Why did you scarper off that day during hols? Why did you avoid me for a week?” He hesitates, then quietly adds. “Why did you end it?”

Draco clenches his hands into fists and glares at them. “Why do you _care_?”

“What does that even _mean_?! I care because I _care_! I just do! I care about you and I care about us!”

“Could've fooled me.”

Harry bristles at the accusatory statement. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You _say_ you care, but that's just words! You wouldn't even _look_ at me that night that Longbottom caught us holding hands. You high-tailed it out of the room the next morning when I joined you with a _terrible_ excuse. You came back to school with Girl Weasley hanging off your arm! I just had the decency to end what you obviously wanted to!”

Draco looks like he might just cry, and Harry can’t tell if it’s from rage or grief, but it cuts at him all the same. The last time he saw Draco cry... He crawls over to the other boy and reaches out tentatively. Draco comes easily enough, leaning into Harry’s body and letting himself be held.

“I hate you.”

“I don't think that’s been true for a while.”

“You make me feel weak.”

Harry cards his fingers through soft, blond hair, and tries to order his thoughts.

“I'm sorry for freaking out when Nev saw us, but you can't really blame me. And I wasn't trying to avoid you the next morning, I really did have to see a man about a thing.” He chuckles. “I wanted to talk to Nev about not telling anyone. I thought that was what you wanted.”

Draco snorts and tucks his head against Harry’s neck. “I did. And I didn't. It was all very confusing.”

“For you and me both.”

“What about Weasley?”

“Ron? He’s always confused, but what’s that have to do with anything?”

“Ginevra, you dunce!”

“Oh. We’re just _friends_ , you wanker.”

“Oh.”

Hope begins welling its way up inside of Harry. Who would have guessed that all they needed to fix things was a dark room filled with dark memories?

“Just to clarify, we were more than a fumble in the dark, right?”

Draco stills, then pulls back and stares him in the eye. “I’m not good at relationships. Sometimes I'm angry for no reason. Sometimes I need a lot of attention and sometimes I need to be alone and sometimes I don't know _which_ I need. I hog the blankets and my feet are always cold and I have nightmares almost every night and some people will want nothing to do with you just because you're with me.”

Harry grins and bumps their noses together and Draco’s face twists itself to a reluctant and exasperated fondness.

“I'm trying to be serious.”

Harry cups Draco’s face and kisses him lightly. “Do you really think any of that would scare me away? I'm a Gryffindor.”

“You're an arse.”

“So are you.”

“I don't deny it.”

They both smile and Harry rests their foreheads together. He feels freer than he has in a long time.

Draco’s fingers clench the fabric of his jumper and he leans in for another kiss, attempting to ignore the ache in his legs. It's a valiant effort, but not sustainable.

“As much as I’d like to stay right here like this, I think if I keep kneeling any longer, I won't be able to stand back up again.”

Draco sighs and disentangles himself, then stands and holds out a hand. “You're hopeless. I'm calling this off.”

Harry laughs and takes it, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. He pulls Draco closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

 

 

-FIN-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
> Doubt that the sun doth move,  
> Doubt truth to be a liar,  
> But never doubt I love."  
> Hamlet - Act 2, Scene 5
> 
> Lyrics from Fade Away by Ryder.


End file.
